


Unchained Memories

by MadMax



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-16 04:31:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1331992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadMax/pseuds/MadMax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya has finally returned to Westeros after years away, searching for the blacksmith boy she never got to say goodbye to. </p><p>When she finally tracks him down they set off north, but are caught in a torrential downpour and are forced to seek shelter. The journey stirs feelings and memories that have been long buried, yet are emerging once again - unbidden and uncontrollable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Searching for Someone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya's journey begins.

Arya hadn't set foot in Westeros for what seemed like half a lifetime, yet she already knew how most things had fared while she was away: Syrio had taught her to listen with her ears, while the House of Black and White had honed her observation skills even further.

She had learned in which winesinks to find the sailors with the loosest tongues, and in which whorehouses to find the girls with the choicest gossip. She also learned that a few cups of wine can accomplish things that even fat purses and sharp knives never could, which required the ability to tell the difference between a man who spoke the truth - even when he was piss drunk - and a man who only talked out his arse.

When she left Braavos, you couldn't walk a dozen paces without hearing talk of the Bastard Lord Commander, her half-brother Jon Snow. No one knew exactly what was happening up at the Wall; there were rumors of wildlings, giants, mammoths, and a slew of other monsters from Old Nan's bedside tales. But all were in agreement that Jon Snow was forging a new Night's Watch to hold the North, and something never seen before in all of recorded memory. 

A Lyseni pirate galley had taken her across the narrow sea: the vessel's captain was some scoundrel named Salladhor Saan, yet he was quick enough to offer her passage when she strolled aboard into his cabin with five times the usual fare. When he learned who and _what_ she was he also made sure to pledge his silence - after all, a pirate needs to be alive to enjoy his plunder. 

"I am thinking what important matters would take a cultured person such as yourself to a savage land like Westeros," Salladhor asked her while twirling his fingers through his ridiculous beard.

Arya leaned over the railing of his ship and stared into the blue expanse of the ocean. "I'm looking for someone. Someone I haven't seen in a long time." she replied.

"Ah yes, we are all searching for someone, aren't we my friend? I myself long to see my wives, I have 2 of them just in White Harbor that I haven't seen in years," he said with a wink. "The someone you are seeking, my honored guest holds dearly in the heart, Yes? Salladhor Saan knows these things."

Arya thought of her brother Jon Snow, and how when she finally saw him again she would run up to him and he would muss up her hair, just like they used to do. She would have to make her way to Castle Black all the way from the Riverlands. She had tried to make that same journey years before, yet never even got past the Neck. Things were different now, however. She was no longer a little girl, as meek as a mouse. She was a woman grown, able to defend herself against any threat that dared stand in her way. But before she set off north, Arya needed to find another man, whose name would never be bantered about in the back alleys of Essos.

"Yes." she told Salladhor. " _Someone special._ "


	2. But You Can Be My Forest Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya searches for someone...but to no avail.

"A moon's turn a host is waiting for his most esteemed guest in this backwater shantytown you Westerosi dare call a port," Salladhor informed Arya, wagging his finger extravagantly for added emphasis. "And only as a courtesy for your generous contributions to my coffers. Salladhor Saan's men are drinking this town dry in half the time he has given his dear friend to find a special someone." 

Arya nodded to the pirate and walked down the gangplank, hoping she wouldn't need a moon's turn to find what she had come for. She stepped ashore and inhaled deeply. It smelled of home. The air, the water, even the soil were are all pleasantly familiar. But the village that laid before her offered no such comfort.

_Saltpans._

Arya chewed her lip. Maester Luwin would probably recall some scholar's wisdom on journeys always ending where they began.

All Arya could recall was anguish and fear. Burned homes and broken men. This is where she abandoned her old life and her old identity, after she had left a dog to die just a few days earlier.

Saltpans had been rebuilt in the years since Arya had left - green pine still showed here and there amongst the buildings. She wondered how many leagues of forest had been cleared to bring the town back from destruction. It was certainly larger than she remembered it, with a modest harbor half-filled with ships loading and unloading their goods. Arya made her way to the nearest stable and encountered a buxom woman saddling a horse. The stable had a good, earthy smell that filled Arya's nose.

"Any mounts for sale?" she asked.

"Depends," replied the woman as she turned around to greet Arya. "Ah, none that you can afford, I'm afraid." the woman said after eyeing Arya up and down and scoffing at her roughshod appearance.

Arya dug her fingernails into her palm. She reached for her hip, almost grabbing the hilt of her sword before thinking better of it. Instead she pulled a few gold dragons from her pouch and tossed them to the horse wench. 

"I'll take that one. Keep the change and buy yourself a bath."

Arya brushed right past the woman, tightened the saddle straps, placed a foot in the stirrup, hoisted herself up, and flicked the reins. A smile crossed Arya's lips - the first in as long as she could remember - as she rode away from the dumbstruck stablekeeper. 

For weeks Arya travelled from village to village, yet she was getting nowhere slowly. She wasn't afraid to ask the question...but she did fear the answer she might get.

"Have you seen a black-haired blacksmith who looks like a bull?" Arya would ask the local innkeepers and septons she came across. They all shrugged and shook their heads, until finally one grizzled cook in a run-down alehouse sighed, nodded, and put down his butcher's knife.

"Afraid you come asking two years too late, stranger. I know the man you speak of, but he died o' the chill last winter."

Arya's head swam. She grabbed for the counter, just barely catching herself in time before losing her footing. Tears welled in her eyes. Could she really come all this way only to have her heart ripped from her chest? Could the gods be so cruel?

"Sorry to shit on your parade, as it were. I bet he was in debt to you as well. Rat bastard owed me 6 stags afore he decided to up and die at the ripe age of 73." The cook spat on the floor. "Fucking prick."

Arya jerked out of her haze and grabbed the man by the collar. "What did you say his name was?"

"His name was Cole! He was the blacksmith in Lord Harroway's Town for damn near 30 years!"

Arya shoved the cook back and sat down exasperated.

"Fucking hell! You best take it easy around here afore you go assaulting the wrong person."

A shadowed figure in the corner spit out his wine in a fit of laughter.

"Shitmouth you bloody idiot, that one would rip your damn throat out before you could scream."

Arya turned to see a ragged man in a faded yellow cloak wipe his mouth.

"Lem?" exclaimed a bewildered Arya.

"In the flesh himself," said Lem Lemoncloak. He seemed casually unsurprised at Arya's presence; like he had been expecting her to waltz into this very tavern for years. Either that, or he was extremely drunk.

"No one gives two shits about Old Man Cole, except for you and your measly debt, Shitmouth." Lem gave an exaggerated bow to Arya, complete with several flairs of his wrist. He was most certainly very drunk.

"Forgive my associate, my lady, he forgets himself sometimes, now that we have proper professions."

"Fuck off." spat Shitmouth, who went back to cutting up the night's roast of mutton.

"I myself have taken up the singer's life, my lady, as you can see," Lem continued, gesturing to his lute. "My travels take me to every village in the Riverlands, or at least all the ones with whorehouses," he said, winking at Arya.

She gave him a disgusted look and made for the door, needing no more of his antics.

"Not so fast my lady, don't you wish to know where to find the man you seek?"

Arya stopped in her tracks. "Gendry?" The name escaped her lips unbidden, for the first time in...

" _Ser_ Gendry now. He was knighted, you'll remember. But shortly after Beric Dondarrion finally died for good, he left the Brotherhood. T'was a tragic loss, for all the maidens of the realm would go wanting," Lem sighed, strumming his lute.

Arya bit her lip and grabbed the neck of Lem's instrument, cutting off the sound.

He grinned a mischievous grin at her. "Ah, but just like all the songs the fires of passion burn fiercest in one lass in particular I think, now that she has come of age."

Arya tightened her grip around Lem's lute, and was like to snap it in half if she didn't restrain herself. She was a woman grown now, as all the cretins in the Braavosi taverns she frequented often reminded her. But one finger out of place and they were like to lose it, as one lecher learned the hard way after he mistook Arya's hip for his wine cup. She wondered if the man had told his wife he lost his pinkie in a duel, the coward.

But Arya was quickly losing patience with Lem's games. _"Where. Now."_ were the only two words she managed to get out through gritted teeth.

"A little speck of a hamlet named Riverbend a half day's ride to the east. Dreadful place, not a lady's company to be had for miles around," Lem tittered.

As she stormed outside, she could here Lem Lemoncloak launch into a song verse - slurring every word:  
  
 _"I’ll wear a gown of golden leaves,_  
 _and bind my hair with grass,_  
 _but you can be my forest love,_  
 _and me your forest lass."_  
  
Arya chewed her lip, and kicked her heels into her horse.


	3. What Did I Come Here For?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya finally finds the man she's been looking for.

_"A half day's ride to the east."_

Arya made a note to rip Lem Lemoncloak's lying tongue out the next time she saw him. She had ridden all night, and all day again the next day. Finally at dawn she came upon the hamlet that _he_ was supposed to be at. She slowed her horse to a trot on the outskirts of the village, and wondered what this adventure would finally bring. She looked to the sky to find a plume of smoke billowing from a chimney at the edge of town. 

_The forge._

Where else would he be? She rode over to the building and dismounted, only 5 paces away from the door. She could hear someone hammering away inside. _4 paces._ Her heart began to race. _3 paces._ She wiped the sweat from her brow. _2 paces._ Could this really be it? Was she ready for this? _1 step away._ What did she look like? She adjusted her shirt, then decided she was being foolish. _So what?_ Gendry never cared what she looked like. She reached out for the door handle. 

Arya pushed the door open and was greeted by a blast of heat from the forge. Hammering away at a hunk of iron was a tall, muscular man in a blacksmith's apron. Sweat gleamed off his biceps. The man didn't even look up from his work.

"Are you deaf or just thick-headed? I said I'd have your order ready tomorrow."

There he was. In front of her. Arya wanted to shout and run over to him, to touch his skin and make sure this wasn't another dream. But all she managed to do was make the short, high-pitched squeak, like a mouse.

He looked up at her. He had short-cropped hair as black as coal, with stubble covering his chin. But it was his eyes that startled Arya the most. They were a deeper shade of blue than she remembered, with a quiet sadness she had never seen before. His eyes narrowed as he tried to puzzle out who the strange figure was in front of him...then they went wide and he dropped his hammer.

"Wha-," he began.

"I came to see you," Arya finished, already knowing his first question. 

"Why?"

"I never got to say goodbye."

They stood there standing apart and staring at each other for what seemed like an eternity.

"Then say it." Gendry finally told her with a glaring look. This wasn't going as Arya had planned.

"That's not what I meant. I didn't mean to leave you like that."

"Why should I care? _M'lady_ was too busy discussing highborn affairs and making eyes at Ned Dayne to have bothered with a lowborn blacksmith."

Now she remembered exactly how much Gendry's bull-headed stubbornness had annoyed her all those years ago. Arya grit her teeth. She hadn't thought about her conversation with Edric Dayne in ages. He was a nice enough boy, and he did have handsome eyes that were almost purple, but he didn't make Arya feel anything, unlike...

"I wasn't _making eyes_ at him, stupid, he was telling me about my father and brother. I'm surprised you even bothered to notice me, weren't you too busy ringing bells at The Peach?". Arya spat back at him. 

"You-, I never even-," Gendry furrowed his brow and flared his nostrils, exactly like a bull. "I don't have to explain anything to _m'lady_. You've said what you've come to say, now leave."

"You think I _wanted_ to leave you? I was kidnapped, if you remember, by a man who _killed_ Lord Beric Dondarrion. I _wanted_ to stay with you...I wanted to run back to the Wall with you to see my brother..." Tears again welled in the corner of Arya's eyes. "But I guess that all counts for nothing. I can't believe I crossed the narrow sea and came all this way for a _stupid bastard boy_ who didn't even care if I was alive." 

Arya spun on her heel and barged out of the forge. She walked over to her horse and was about hop on it and ride away when she heard a voice.

"Didn't you hear me calling your name when you left Hollow Hill? I looked for you for ages." said Gendry in a quiet tone. 

"After a few months Anguy told me to give up, then even Harwin said I should move on. Lem was the only one who still believed I'd ever see you again, ' _True lo-_ '....nevermind," Gendry blushed.

It was the sweetest thing she had ever heard...Sansa and her friends would be swooning right now. But Arya had to keep her composure.

"I need you to come with me," she told Gendry.

Gendry hesitated... "You can't seriously ask me that."

"I wasn't asking, was I?" She kicked her heels into her horse and began trotting away.

When Gendry shouted "WAIT!", Ayra smiled, and knew she had him.

That was 3 days ago. As soon as they had left the skies had been drizzling, but now the rain came down in thick, suffocating sheets. Their journey had seemed simple enough when they set out - a day's ride back to Saltpans. Arya hadn't experienced a proper rainstorm since she was a little girl at Winterfell. Essos had rain of course, but it couldn't hold a candle to this. Even in Braavos, where the fog sometimes grew so thick you could cut it with a dagger, the worst downpours still never lasted more than a few hours. This was debilitating. Yet part of her relished it, a cleansing blanket of water that washed away the years of grime she had endured away from home.

They trudged on through the torrent.

Now Arya was soaked to the bone. Her fingers were like shriveled prunes. But Gendry hadn't said a word in hours, and she was not going to let him gloat. He had told her the weather would be brutal, but they needed to get to Saltpans...she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of being right.

It was getting colder and windier, and despite her training Arya was getting increasingly uncomfortable. But she had to press on. "Clop, clop, clop," their horses trekked through the mud. The sound of Gendry's voice jolted her awake. "What's that?" he asked over the downpour. He pointed to a hidden scruff of overgrown trees, and Arya peered over. "Looks like a holdfast or an old sept."

"Abandoned probably. Let's see if it's sturdy enough to settle down for the night," Gendry said.

"What, a little too wet for you out here?" Arya retorted.

Gendry flared, "Please. I could keep going all night. It's you I'm worried about."

Arya inhaled sharply, heart fluttering, but after a second shook it off in time to make a snide remark. "Don't be stupid, I'm no dainty maiden afraid of a little rain."

"My apologies if these accommodations don't suit you, m'lady." Gendry said with a grin.

Arya spat. "Spare me your courtesy...still though, I don't know how much more the horses can take. We should at least check it out."

Gendry nodded, and they both spurred to a trot.

Calling it a holdfast would be too generous. It was more of a run down hovel nested along a rocky outcrop. The side came right up the the edge of a small pond.

"Must be an old fisherman's retreat," Gendry said.

They went around the back looking for an entrance, through rows of brambles and brush. Finally they came across a rotted wooden door. Arya dismounted and gave it a shove, but it didn't budge. She bit her lip and took a step back.

"Need a hand, m'lday?" Arya turned to see Gendry standing there with that same stupid grin that he had when they rolled around in the dirt as kids. It struck her that she hadn't seen that smile in what seemed like a lifetime...

"What's that look for?" Gendry asked her.

Arya snapped back from her thoughts and looked around. "Hmmph." She spat and braced her shoulder against the door. She dug her toes into the mud and pushed with all the strength she could muster. The rusted hinges of the door began to creak as the door slowly gave way, and for a moment Arya thought she was actually going to do it... 

Until her footing gave way and she went tumbling down into the mud. She hit her knee hard on a rock submerged in the muck and gasped.

Gendry dropped the reins for the horses and came sprinting over and grabbed her arm. 

"Are you okay?"

She grit her teeth and began to say how it was nothing, just a cut, that the cats in King's Landing used to do far worse to her. But as she looked up, her eyes caught his. In those deep blue eyes, she saw his anxiety, his concern, his worry for her.

And the tears came spilling out. 

She had held onto them for half a lifetime. But it was easy in Essos, and necessary. Even the few friends and acquaintances she had made never really cared. The other members of the House of Black and White certainly did not. Emotions went there to die. No one had cared if she skinned her knee for as long as she could remember. And finally someone did. Arya bit her lip and sobbed.

"I-I-...I miss my brother Jon. I miss Mother and Father. I miss Bran and Rickon and Robb and my sister Sansa. I miss Nymeria, I miss Winterfell, I miss having a home, I miss things being normal...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-...I feel so stupid, I-"

Gendry knelt down in the mud and took Arya in his arms and embraced her.

"You don't have to explain anything."

She grabbed his tunic and buried her face in his chest, and let everything come out. They sat there in the cold, wet mud, as Arya's tears were washed away by the rain. 

Finally, Arya felt as if she had made up for not crying for all those years. She gazed up into Gendry's deep blue eyes once again, and then squeezed him even tighter. She missed having someone care about her. When had she even had a friend? She used to play with a butcher's boy when she was a child, but she couldn't even remember his name now.

"Come on. Let's get out of the rain." said Gendry. He stood up and helped Arya to her feet. Luckily the horses had not wandered too far. 

"Let's try to open the door together," said Gendry. Arya nodded, and they both braced their shoulders and pushed. The hinges screamed as the door finally gave way. Arya cheered delightedly. 

"That was all me," she said. Gendry gave her that look and smiled as they both lead the horses inside. It was dusk, so there was still a sliver of light.

It was dingy, and damp, and the roof was leaking in a dozen spots, but it was certainly an improvement.

"We need to make a fire or we're going to catch our deaths," Gendry said. Arya realized just how cold she actually was. She shivered down to her bones. 

"How can we possibly get one started? Everything is soaked."

Gendry gave another one of those familiar looks from all those years ago, the bull-headed determined one. He paced around the interior of the hovel. He went from the common room into the only adjacent room and then stepped out and frowned. He moved to a pile of rushes in the corner and kicked them away with his heel.

"Here!" he shouted. Arya followed him to find an iron cellar door. Gendry threw the door open. It was pitch black down below. Gendry ran to his pack, grabbed his flint, and lit a torch to descend into the depths. 

The stairs led to a set of double doors. Gendry threw them open and gasped. Barrels and barrels lined the room, maybe 20 feet by 20 feet, along with a table, a few chairs, and some old books. Arya walked down the line of barrels stacked on top of each other. She rapped her knuckles on one. It was definitely filled with...something.

Gendry walked over and pulled a knife out of his back pocket...Arya blushed and looked away. He opened the barrel and inside was salted beef and fish - not the most appetizing meal - but a welcome sight. Gendry rolled another barrel into the center of the room. Something was sloshing around inside of it. They popped the cork at the top and stared at the empty hole.

"What do you think it is?" asked Gendry.

Arya slipped off her travel pack, took out a pewter mug, and dipped it into the barrel. In the dim flicker of the torchlight the liquid only looked black. She took a sniff.

"Doesn't smell poisonous... Only one way to know for sure though." She drank deep.

The astonished look on Gendry's face was completely worth the risk. Besides, she was carrying several antidotes in her pack that she had taken from the House of Black and White. She came away smiling with red lips and flushed cheeks, half from the wine and half from...

Gendry simply stood there, mouth still agape. Then he burst into laughter, and it was the sweetest sound Arya had heard for as long as she could remember. When was the last time she made _anybody_ laugh?


	4. A Roaring Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry and Arya work to get a fire going.

Arya and Gendry hobbled the horses in the spare room, broke up the chairs from the cellar for kindling, and before long they had a fire crackling merrily. The warmth was certainly welcome - Arya had never felt such a chill, and this was just rain. She wondered what her brother Jon Snow was dealing with up at the Wall. She had thought of him often these past years, almost more than anyone else, even more than Father and Mother. But it was no use to dwell on the dead. She drank deeply once more and sat silently staring into her cup. A raindrop rolled off her cheek and into her cup. Or was it another tear?

"We can't stay wet all night or we'll catch ill." came Gendry's voice. 

She sniffed and looked up to meet his gaze. 

"That's how Praed died on the kingsroad, remember?" 

How many years ago was that? She still remembered falling asleep to Praed's hacking cough for weeks on end, until one night she woke up to haunting silence. "Only the fourth man in 30 years I ever lost on the road." she recalled Yoren saying as they buried him. 

"How could I ever forget?" she answered. "But we don't have enough wood from the cellar to last."

Gendry nodded. "We have enough to get the fire roaring, then we can dry out some logs from outside along with our clothes." 

Gendry walked over to his travel pack and pulled out a dripping mass of cloth. 

"Practically everything is soaked through."

Arya checked her own pack and found the same. "They should only take a few hours to dry if we keep the fire burning though," she said.

Gendry nodded and began unpacking. He laid out his spare tunic and cloak next to the fire, along with an undershirt and breeches. When he pulled out the next item of clothing and uncrumpled it, Arya could not help but giggle.

Gendry furrowed his brow and shot her a cross look. "Has _m'lady_ never seen a man's smallclothes before?"

She forced herself to regain her composure. "Sorry, I have-, I mean no I haven't-, I mean..." Her tongue ceased to function properly as she struggled to find the words to explain. She had stripped hundreds of men and women during her time at the House of Black and White, collecting all their worldly possessions and carefully organizing and cataloging them in the chambers below. But they were just corpses. She wanted, _meant_ to say she had never seen a _real_ man's smallclothes; a living, breathing man, right in front of her, here, tonight, in the light of a fire, in a small hovel.

She turned away to hide the flush creeping up her neck, as Gendry let out a "Hmph." 

"Here." came his voice, and she turned just in time to catch his sleeping blanket in the air. "It's still damp, but better than nothing while _your_ clothes are drying."

Arya managed to suppress the meek sound that came up from the pit her stomach. She had forgotten how completely soaked she was, and noticed how cold it had gotten in the night. She would need to lay her own garments by the fire before she froze. 

Gendry started for the door. "I saw a few fallen trees in some underbrush near the pond, maybe there's actually some dry wood I can find."

"Don't take too long, we need to stay inside." Arya said.

"A knight always returns to his Lady." Gendry managed to say with a grin as he ducked out into the rain, before Arya could throw something at him.


	5. Dripping Clothes and Melting Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Gendry warm up by the fire...

The rain continued to patter the roof in a torrent. The sound was deafening, and Arya felt strangely alone. A chill went right through her, and she recalled just how bitter cold she was, as well as Gendry's words about catching their deaths.

She took out her spare clothes from her pack and laid them next to Gendry's. Tunic, cloak, breeches, undershirt. They looked much liked his - they were just as dirty - only smaller. Arya's cheeks grew flushed when she spied Gendry's undergarments, and she couldn't suppress the smile that crept to her face. 

But her own smallclothes couldn't be more different than Gendry's, even though Arya had never concerned herself with the fineries of high born ladies like Sansa had. Arya's hips had certainly filled out after her flowering, and of course her breasts had finally grown, though she usually wrapped her chest tightly to conceal her gender. But her undergarments looked practically dainty when laid next to Gendry's rough spun attire. 

After laying out her spare clothing, she peeled off her waterlogged boots and socks, removed her leather jerkin and underlayers until she was down to just her smallclothes. She curled up in Gendry's sleeping blanket and poured another cup of wine. Even though the blanket was still a little damp, she already felt warmer...it smelled like him; leather and iron and soot, good earthy smells. Arya bit her lip and gripped her cup tighter.

The rain continue to pound the roof. Gendry hadn't returned for what seemed like ages, and Arya was already down to the last bits of wood they had scrounged from the cellar. She began to get worried, and was about to pull on her wet clothes to go looking for him. But finally, he shoved open the door with a load of wood in his arms and his black hair matted to his face. 

" _Gendry!_ " Arya said without thinking, bolting to her feet. 

Gendry dropped the logs by the doorway, without even looking down. Arya watched his eyes go wide, and he swallowed hard.

Just then Arya realized she had forgotten to stand up with the blanket, and was only covered by a few small scraps of clothing. Gendry quickly averted his gaze.

"Sorry- I didn't mean to-, I didn't know you-" he began, stumbling over every word.

Arya couldn't help but laugh. A man who could take down a wild boar with his bare hands was absolutely flummoxed in the presence of a nearly naked woman.

"What? You haven't seen a lady's smallclothes before?" she teased as she picked the blanket back up and covered herself...but not before seeing Gendry catch one last peek out of the corner of her eye.

"Very funny," Gendry managed to retort, regaining his composure.

He pulled off his boots and threw them by the fire, then slicked his hair back, spraying water across the room. Arya's cheeks grew warm once again, so she stood up and descended the stairs to pour Gendry a cup of wine. When she emerged back into the main room he was already disrobing. 

The firelight danced on the sheen of water that coated his skin, highlighting every shadow along chest and abdominals. His arms were the same ones from before she had left, only bigger; thick cords of muscle seemingly carved out of stone from Gendry's years at the forge. Arya chewed her lip. In Braavos, she didn't speak to many young men around her age: the best sailors to talk to were all rugged veterans of half a hundred voyages. A few of the younger ones had caught Arya's eye here and there, but they were just cabin boys and oarsmen, never worth Arya's time or even a second glance. None of them ever made her feel so... _funny_ inside...unlike...

Gendry dropped a log onto the fire and looked up catch Arya admiring his figure. Before she could say anything he walked over to her and wrapped his fingers around the cup she was holding.

"For me, _m'lady?_ You shouldn't have." He placed the cup to his lips with a smile and drank it all. Arya punched him in the shoulder.

"What's that they say about apples falling far from trees?" She asked him coyly.

"Hmm?" he replied, wiping his mouth.

"Nothing, blacksmith boy. Now we both need a refill."

They descended into the cellar and topped off their cups.

The rain continued to pour relentlessly. But the two travelers inside the hovel didn't seem to notice. They were well and truly drunk.

"...and then you kicked Hot Pie so hard in the gut he nearly _pissed_ himself!" shouted an inebriated boy named Gendry.

"I told the _stupid lunk_ what would happen if he tried to take my damn sword!" responded an equally tipsy girl named Arya.

They both had not laughed like that since...when they were last together...

The fire had begun to dwindle, so Gendry rose to his feet, wobbling, and went to get more wood.

Like Arya he was also down to his smallclothes, although he wasn't covering up with a blanket. No wonder they called him the bull, Arya thought. He was solid muscle from top to bottom, truly built like an aurochs. As he leaned over to pick up another log, Arya caught a fleeting glance at his rear and nearly spilled her wine.

"What was that sound you just made?"

"What sound? I didn't make a sound."

"You definitely just made a sound. A little squeak like a kitten."

"Don't be stupid. I'm not a kitten."

"No, you're much more dangerous. Like an alley cat."

Arya hid her smile in her cup. Gendry threw the log onto the fire and stoked the flames before sitting down next to her. He crossed his arms and rubbed them up and down from shoulder to elbow.

"Gendry, you're freezing."

"No I'm not."

Arya felt like punching him again, but thought the if she tried she might fall over.

"Take some of this blanket."

"I'm not cold, I-"

"I am not going to turn up to Saltpans and try to explain to Salladhor Saan why I have a dead man slumped over my horse. Either get under the blanket or I'll knock you out and wrap you up in it."

"You couldn't knock me out with King Robert's warhammer."

All the same, he sat down next to Arya and draped half of the big blanket over his shoulders, visibly thankful for the warmth even if he'd never admit it. Arya bit her lip and smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Finally decided to take the plunge and publish my very first fic, so please let me know what you think! Been writing this one and off for a while now, so most is finished, but I'm keeping the chapters brief.


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